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Thursday, June 03, 2004

What I was talking about was that all day I've been walking around in something of a stupor. This isn't so abnormal for me, but the school year has just ended, so I've just been kind of... wandering. The sad thing is, my brain has been wandering, and I don't like that because it tends to drag my body with it, and my body just spent two hours looking at the ceiling, refusing to get up but also refusing to go to sleep.

I suppose I should go find somebody to talk to and not writee on my stupid blog. But, I needed something to write on and somebody to write to, so there you go. I thought about playing videogames, but that would make me think too much (my mind wanders). I thought about playing Advance Wars 2, which would occupy my brain, but I felt that would be too hard. I thought about drawing, but that would take too much brainpower. I thought about sleeping, but I hadn't made dinner yet. I thought about making dinner, but that would require both moving and too much brainpower. So I just did nothing, for TWO HOURS, which kind of spits on the "live in the moment" philosophy that my mom always hammers into my brain.

I feel better after I masturbate because it means that at least SOMEBODY cares for me in a sexual way, even if it's just myself, and lately I've been just living in my own personal bubble, which is fine for when I have homework. Now it's just my personal hell, with that terrible voice in my head always telling my I'm thinking wrong or not doing something right.

I get to see a woman I haven't seen in a long time in a few days, a woman who was my mother figure for the better part of my teenage-hood and without whom I do not know where I would be. She loved me enough to take me to coffee periodically and listen to me bitch just because she knew how much I needed it. She would always listen and she would ask before she talked and she always meant the best for me.

So now I should be really happy to see her again, but I'm not, and this is the only reason why: I'm terrified I'm not going to impress her enough. I need to show her how much more mature I am. I need to have a conversation with energy levels in the high nineties. I feel this so much that I was writing down--in the middle of writing class--what I was going to say to her, under the heading "talking points."

And what I never realized (and still don't) is that this woman doesn't love the Leticia who pines after her own success and draws up complicated charts and graphs out of her own insecurity, but the Leticia who asks for love and nothing more, the Leticia who knows she isn't perfect and yet still strives to be the best woman she can be. More than that, though, I think the Leticia she loves best is the one she barely ever sees, the one who lets her guard down just for a brief moment when she's with a friend.

I could learn a lot from her.

Leticia
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